


Friendly Fire

by queenhomeslice



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Business Trip, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Female Reader, Host Clubs, Japanese Character(s), Japanese Culture, Language Barrier, Multi, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-11 23:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18434471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: You are the daughter of the CFO (chief financial officer) of a major shipping company, and you accompany your dad on a business trip to Tokyo. You have a chance meeting with Kyouya Ootori, and subsequently, the rest of the Host Club of the elite Ouran Academy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have NO idea where this is going, I'm so sorry y'all. Bear with me. Tags and characters will be updated as I post more chapters. This is my first time writing in the Ouran fandom, despite being a hardcore fan for over a decade, so treat me nicely. There are more Ouran stories I want to write but I thought I'd ease myself into it with a Reader-insert first. I put the rating as mature because there will be some language, but. Who knows what hanky-panky will happen? 
> 
> I know Ouran was written in the early 2000s so I've updated it a little to fit in modern settings, what with the rise of the "social media influencer/blogger" (and you know the boys would be all over Rich Kids of Instagram or some other nonsense) and various social media outlets (let's picture Tamaki Suoh on Twitter for five seconds, shall we?). 
> 
>  
> 
> OHSHC belongs to Bisco Hatori, Shojo Beat, Funimation, Viz Media. I do not own any of the characters or companies mentioned here and I am not making money from this work.

You gazed down over your left shoulder at the rapidly approaching landscape. _Japan_. 

 

You’d been out of the country before, but mostly to the United Kingdom or France (you _really_ had a soft spot for France and were improving in the language all the time), but you’d never been to Asia. (You were a bit of a closet geek, though, and had played your way through a fair number of RPGS and had more than your share of anime marathons; being wealthy afforded you much of what you wanted, and your personal collection of over 500 volumes of manga just in your bedroom alone was just the tip of the iceberg.) Still, when your father had invited you on yet another business trip, you couldn’t refuse. You loved spending time with him, and you loved learning about his business. As the CFO of one of the largest shipping organizations in your country, it was his duty to handle the finances of such an operation, and that meant many alliances with foreign countries and their similar businesses. Mergers, trade agreements...you’d even been in the room for a few hostile takeover situations, and you’d be lying if you said that it hadn’t sent a thrill up and down your spine to see your father and his assistants so _demanding_.  

The looks you usually got were along the lines of _what’s that kid doing here_ or _shouldn't you be in school_ , but the opposing business men usually shut up when your father handed you the reigns and let you verbally destroy men more than twice your age. You’d been following your father around dutifully since you were little, and when mom had gotten sick, _The Economist_ quickly replaced Winnie the Pooh as bedtime stories.  

Your mom had been sick for a while, so it was mainly just you and your dad, with mom in and out of hospice care, either at a facility or in your own home, surrounded by a private staff of caretakers and nurses, cooks, and maids. The elite private boarding school was just a novelty at this point, with most of your lessons being done online and video chatting with a private tutor the school had on call for strange arrangements like your own. Arrangements like flying over 3,000 miles away from home on a Wednesday night in the middle of the fall semester. Dad always let you have the window seat, flying for him getting a bit jaded at age 45. And if he opted for the window anyway, he usually sat behind you. You were thankful that he realized his almost-adult daughter needed space.  

You snapped a tired selfie for your tightly-curated social media profile, posting about your latest adventure to your millions of followers, then waved at the flight attendant lazily making her way down the business class section. _Wish Dad would’ve gone with first-class this time,_ you huffed quietly, but quickly banished the reprimand. You knew that frugality was sometimes a necessity; this must’ve been one of those times, so you didn’t question it. At least it was still less crowded and more comfortable than coach—you'd had that experience exactly _once_ with one of your closest friends back home who had been scared to fly alone to go see a relative. You’d offered to pay for first class, since her financial situation was lightyears away from yours, but she and her family had adamantly refused, and so you’d been crammed in the middle seat, of all the things, next to her, of course letting her have the window seat; but the mother with the crying baby in the aisle seat and the toddler kicking in the chair behind you had definitely made that your first and last layman’s flying experience. On the way back home, you’d secretly cancelled your friend’s predestined flight and dragged her to first class despite her protests.  

The flight attendant brought you out of your reverie. “Yes, Miss?” 

“Uh. A bottle of water, please. I’m feeling a little dehydrated.” 

“Should I call the on-flight EMT?” 

 _Of course_ _AirJapan_ _had an on-flight EMT_. “No, no. I’ll be fine. Just water. Maybe two bottles.” 

“Right away, Miss.” 

You gazed back out of the window, both feeling and seeing the plane tilt sideways, a small _ding_ overhead signaling the **Fasten Seatbelt** light. You glanced over at your father, who was lightly dozing, head back on his portable shiatsu massage neck pillow, a silk eye mask over his no-doubt haggard eyes, wireless earbuds in his ear, no doubt spewing a James Patterson novel into his subconscious. You smiled and snuggled your arm under his, and leaned your head on his shoulder. The flight attendant returned with two one-liter bottles of Fiji water, and you downed almost a whole one in just a few minutes.  

The captain’s voice was coming in overhead, now, in no fewer than four languages, welcoming you to Narita International Airport in Tokyo. As the plane dived lower, you slid the giant bottles of water into your designer bag that had taken refuge under the seat, and gently shook your father awake.  

“Hey, Dad. Dad, we’re landing.” 

He stirred a little, snorted, then yawned, He brought a hand up to lift his eye mask and blinked in the dim cabin lighting. The wrinkles on his face increased as his gaze settled sideways on your, thin lips forming a breathy smile. “Hey Princess. You okay? Sleep any?” 

“Yeah, but I’ve been up for a few hours. Watched a movie, worked on some schoolwork. I finished my lessons for the rest of this week so I don’t have to worry about them. Well, except for my history paper...but I can do that tomorrow.” You followed your father in a quiet yawn. The _other_ blessing in your life other than being rich was being smart, and money had nothing to do with that. Contrary to popular belief, your parents hadn’t ever bought your way into anywhere—no lessons, schools, tutors, or extracurricular activities. Most of your life, until high school and the rise of multiple social media platforms, you’d tried to keep your wealth under wraps, just focusing on school and learning from your father’s business dealings.  

But then when Teen Vogue had approached you and done a one-page spread on your street style (you’d been wearing the latest something or other of Balenciaga’s line from next season), it had been kind of downhill from there. At least you thought you were still sort of down-to-earth, at least. You wanted to work. Which was why you were turning into one of the world’s youngest economic gurus and prepping yourself for a role in the company your father worked for. It was a family company, after all—your grandfather was the CEO and the board of trustees were distant cousins, aunts, and uncles. What else were you going to do with your life?  

 

The disembarkment from the plane passed without incident, an elderly gentleman with a sign welcoming you to Tokyo and guiding you to large, black SUV. You settled into the plush back seat, stretching sideways and resting your legs on your dad’s lap. He patted your ankle lovingly. “I’ve arranged a private guide for you tomorrow, Princess, so you can tour the city. I’ll be in meetings all day. You can join me the day after for more business, but I want you to enjoy it here, since you’ve never been.” 

You sighed as you replied to a comment on Instagram, letting the phone drop to your lap after. “Thanks Dad.” He’d been to Tokyo before, but you’d never been. You were actually stupidly excited to be here, but the excitement was fading underneath the jet lag and dehydration. You took a swig of water. You scooted to a sitting position, now, and put your seat belt on, gazing out of the window at the strange city. A looming building was on your right, at the top, you could see big, bright letters in both English and Japanese. “Ootori,” you could make out, next to the universal hospital symbol. (A crash-course in Japanese had been your focus for the last several months. You could read some, maybe order something in a restaurant, but conversations were definitely still out of the question. You were definitely going to the be typical white _gaijiin_ , here , bowing and apologizing a _lot_.) 

“Hey Dad, we just passed the Ootori health complex. Haven’t you done business with them before?” 

“Hm? Ootori? Oh yes, we exclusively work with delivering their products to the US. Their youngest son is about your age, I think. They deal mostly in hospital management, but along with that territory comes insurance policies and medical supplies. We’ve helped several of their staff relocate to the LA area over the years.” 

“Hm. What’s his name? The son.” 

“Oh, uh. Kyouya? I think.” 

You typed the Romanized version of his name into the Instagram search bar, and sure enough, a verified account with his name came up. He hadn’t posted much, about a hundred or so curated photos of his school, food, scenery; one selfie with a friend, an equally attractive blonde, and one professional family portrait. He was fairly attractive, tall, with glasses, a nice smile. You clicked on one of the photos of an opulent clock tower, and the location popped up on the screen, showing Ouran Academy in the Bunkyo ward of Tokyo. Huh. Touring a Japanese school might be a fun thing to do. You opened an internet tab and searched for the school, and _damn._ You were rich, but. This was a school for kids whose parents owned _multiple_ companies, some of them almost billionaires. You made a low seven-figures just from your social media accounts alone, but this school...you were starting to think that you’d be out of your league here. However, dad had hinted that if these meetings went well, he’d receive a nice bonus. Even though the shipping company was a family business, it was just one company, and money only went so far. You’d taken to trading stock in your spare time just to fuel your shopping obsession; during the last school field trip to Wall Street, you’d impressed more than one stock broker, and within a week, an internship had been offered to you upon graduation.  

You brought your attention back to Instagram, and decided on a whim to message the youngest Otoori son.  

 

 **From sunshineprincess17, 22:05 pm: Hey, you don’t know me, but my father is the CFO of Maersk shipping in the US. I’m his only daughter, on a business trip with him in Tokyo this week. He said we do a lot of business with Ootori, so I just wanted to reach out and say hi. Maybe we could meet up this week, you could show me around? Your school looks wicked, btw. I’d love to get a tour. We should meet up if you get the chance. My name is _______. But if you can’t or don’t want to, it’s fine. Just thought I’d establish a connection.**  

 

 

You reached the luxury hotel without incident and checked in, the bellman carrying your bags into the elevator and following you and your father to the 30th floor penthouse suite. The suite thankfully had two bedrooms, a spacious living area, a full-size kitchen, an oversize bathroom, and a balcony overlooking what you thought must’ve been all of Tokyo. The view was breathtaking, and you snapped a few dark shots, lightening them with a filter and posting them in bulk before putting your phone on charge (thanks to the adapter you’d gotten at the airport) and flopping on the bed, not even bothering to change.

You felt yourself slipping into unconsciousness, barely registering your dad puttering around in the rest of the suite outside. You heard the clink of bottles—the wet bar, of course, his first stop in any hotel room--and let yourself succumb to sleep.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still don't know what I'm doing, but you meet Kyouya, at least.
> 
> Original character in the form of a friendly tour guide your father has hired to tail you around all week for sightseeing.
> 
> (Also Uber is active in Tokyo, I checked!)

You woke up in a daze, not knowing the time, day, or year for several minutes before remembering that you were, in fact, in a foreign country. You checked the time—7 am JST. Ugh. Several notifications from your dad were sitting unopened in your text messages.  

 

 **Daddy, 5:45 am: Good morning Princess! Your tour guide will be out front at 8:30 am. There is a loose itinerary of local attractions already planned, but of course, please deviate from them if you want to. I will be expecting your company for dinner with some clients at Sukiyabashi Jiro at 7 pm, so please do not be late! Business casual attire is ok; no need for black tie just yet.**  

 **Daddy, 6:30 am: I’m thinking of buying a small apartment for when we visit here. Do you think Mom would like it here? She might fare better farther north, though...maybe we better invest in a family house in Hokkaido. Ootori-run hospitals are the best, maybe she’d get better care over here.**  

 **Daddy, 6:49 am: I just passed a shop filled with those big-eyed characters that you like so much. If you give me a name of a show or what’s it called...magna...** **monga** **... I can pick something up for you if I pass it again?**  

 

You snickered at the last message, before sighing heavily at his mention of your mom. She’d been in and out of remission for leukemia for half your life, it felt like, and miraculously she was hanging on, but by threads. You weren’t sure that she’d survive the 15-hour plane trip, even if Japan did have better healthcare. But a modest apartment in Tokyo for future visits...that would be pretty cool. You tucked the thought in the back of your mind for later. You knew that not every landlord rented or sold to foreigners, so you’d either have to be really lucky or find a proxy buyer (which wouldn’t be hard, you were sure—you were friends with several other rich kid influencers here...or maybe, if things went well with your own Ootori meeting, Kyouya would be willing to be the face?). Well, whatever. You needed to rise and shine so that you wouldn’t be late for your own first day in Tokyo. You’d think about the logistics of foreign apartment-shopping later.  

Flying into the bathroom, you were pleased to find your favorite beauty brand products already on the counter, courtesy of the hotel. You quickly showered and shaved, brushed your teeth, styled your hair, and applied a very light coating of makeup. You dug some old favorites out of your suitcase, a modest pair of skinny jeans, a striped Britton sweater you’d picked up in Paris over the summer, and a new pair of Adidas. After snapping several shots of the balcony view and of your #OOTD for your #firstdayintokyo, you posted the pics and DMd some of your Japanese mutuals to see if they’d be free later in the week for lunch. After packing just the essentials into a new bag--as you rode the elevator down, perfect timing, it was 8:15—you opened up the private message between you and the youngest Ootori son.  

 

 **From kyouyaootoriofficial, 6:45 am: Pleased to make your acquaintance, _______-san. I am indeed familiar with your grandfather’s company, as well as your father’s and relatives’ positions there. It would be my utmost pleasure to give you a tour of Ouran Academy, and if you desire, introduce you to some of my colleagues.  Our classes dismiss at 3:15 pm; however, I am involved in a pretty extensive extracurricular club from 4 to 5 pm. You are welcome to visit during this club time, however, as all of my close peers are members as well. I shall inform Chairman Suoh of your possible impending visit to** **Ouran** **later today. Should your plans change, please inform myself or the school as soon as possible. Regards,** **Kyouya**  

 

Good grief, you thought, he talks exactly like my dad. You messaged back a quick reply, slipped the phone into your pocket, and headed out the front lobby door. A petite Japanese woman was holding a sign with your name on it; you approached her slowly and bowed awkwardly. “Uh, hi! I’m _____. Are you my tour guide?” 

She smiled as she tucked the sign under her arm and returned the greeting. “Yes!” she said. “My name is Kimura Yume. I’m pleased to meet you, ______-san,” she said in accented English. 

You smiled. “Thank you so much for showing me around today. Um. What...what do I call you? I’m sorry for asking, I just don’t want to be impolite.” 

Yume smiled. “Thank you for asking. Normally, you’d refer to me by my last name and  _san_ at the end, since we just met, but it’s really okay if you want to call me Yume-san. You’re going to be relying on me a lot this week as a guide and interpreter, so I’m sure we’ll become close.”  

“Okay, cool! Thank you. Um. My father said there was a list of things to do already set up?” 

“Oh, yes! Your father was very adamant about you getting a great first day in. I know you have dinner reservations with him at seven tonight. So, we’d better get going.” 

You nodded and watched Yume as she crumbled the paper sign up and threw it away, then motioned for you to follow her.  

“First on the agenda,” she started, "is just walking around this prefecture. We’ll take the train to some other place in a little while. I think you should just...how do they say...get your...” 

“Get my bearings?” 

“Yes! Exactly.” She smiled again, warm and bright.  

You returned the smile, brought out your phone, and just began to take pictures of  _everything._  “I know this is very American of me, Yume-san. I’m sorry. I am really excited to be here though.” 

Yume waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it, really. I’m happy that you’re so interested in my home.” 

Your stomach gurgled. “Oh, uh. Hey.” The two of you passed a small, nondescript coffee shop. “Was there a certain breakfast spot on the schedule for today, or...?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, ______-san! I didn’t realize you hadn’t eaten. Here,” Yume pointed to the café. “Let’s eat here, it’s good.” 

The two of you stepped inside and Yume helped you order breakfast. A bowl of rice topped with a raw egg and soy sauce, a bowl of miso soup, and a peach. And tea, of course.  

After breakfast, your journey continued around the local sights, you documenting and posting dozens of pictures for your Instagram account, snagging up small souvenirs along the way (mostly geek-related, but a few cultural things as well). Yume helped you get a rail pass, and the two of you rode to other areas of Tokyo. You visited the famous Shibuya and Harajuku districts, ate your fill of ramen for lunch, stopped at a cat café, saw Tokyo Tower, visited a shrine...you were falling more and more in love with Japan every minute. And Yume’s gentle guidance on customs and need-to-know phrases were helping you get more and more acclimated and comfortable speaking what little of the language you’d already studied.  

It was nearing 2 o’clock before you knew it, and you certainly didn’t want to be late to Ouran Academy! You folded your rail map and slipped it inside your Hermés crossbody. “Hey, Yume-san. Is it okay if I change plans a little?” 

She smiled up at you. “Of course! What are you wanting to do?” 

“I’ve actually kind of arranged to visit someone at Ouran Academy in the Bunkyo ward. I don’t want to be late and I don’t know how long it takes to get there. Do you think we could head there now?” 

Yume’s eyes widened. “O-ouran Academy? Wow. I’ve been by there, but I’ve never seen it up close in person. Of course I’ll take you there.” 

“Thank you so much!” You and Yume walked to the nearest train station, and it didn’t take long for the rail to fill up with people and for the train to arrive. You shuffled on with her, pulling out your phone in the meantime and responding to comments and messages on your Instagram to pass the time. You knew you’d probably have to hop on several different lines to get to your destination, and Yume confirmed your suspicions.  

“Hey, can I get a selfie with my awesome tour guide?”  

Yume giggled. “Of course!” 

You snapped a selfie, both of you flashing wide grins and a peace sign, as you gave her a shout-out online to let everyone know how clueless you’d be in Tokyo if left to your own devices. Within minutes, Yume’s phone was pinging nonstop with notifications.  

“Wha...” her eyes went big. “So...so many new followers! _______-san, you didn’t tell me you were famous!” 

“Oh psh,” you waved absently. “I wouldn’t go  _that_ far. I’m just a small-time influencer. My real passion is dad’s work. Economics, y’know. I’m hoping to get a job like his when I’m older.” 

Yume was only half-listening as she browsed your public profile, a comical incredulous look on her face. “_______-san...I’m sorry I had no idea who you were! Forgive me if I’ve been too casual.” 

“Oh, please! I really don’t make a big deal out of it.” 

Yume puffed her cheeks and let out an exasperated breath. “You were in  _Vogue._ ” 

“ _Teen Vogue_ ,” you corrected. “And it wasn’t a big deal, they just liked my street style. Dozens of girls get featured, it’s fine.” 

“But you’re also like, super rich.” 

“I’m not that rich. I was looking up Ouran and let me tell you, I’m small potatoes compared to the kids there.” 

“Small...potatoes...?” 

“Oh, sorry. Uh. Colloquial expression. Like small fry. Uh. Means I can’t compare. Boss versus part-time employee kind of thing.” 

Yume nodded. “I see. Wow. So Ouran really caters to those kinds of students, huh.” 

You breathed in hard. “Yeah, I’m going to be put in my place for sure. But the company my dad works for does business with the Ootori group, and their youngest son goes to Ouran. So I thought I’d meet him after class. Networking, you know.” 

Yume looked at you, mouth agape. “No way, Ootori? How...how old are you again? To be making these kinds of plans already...so young and ambitious...” 

“I’m sixteen and a half. So is Ootori-san. Well, Kyouya, but I guess I better not call him that yet, huh?” 

Yume smiled. “You’re learning quickly, _____-san.” 

 

A few stops later and it was 2:55 pm, just in time. You opened up Uber and requested a luxury ride from the train station to Ouran Academy’s front gate. The campus was gorgeous, just like in Kyouya’s online pictures, but it was even more grandiose in person. The opulent architecture, the miles and miles of windowed rooms and halls... 

“I feel like I’m staring at Versaille, part two,” you breathed quietly. “I still can’t believe that this is a  _school_. And I thought my high school was nice.” 

“Of course, you realize that Ouran serves elementary through high school, _____-san? So there are thousands of students of all ages here. Ouran even has a connecting college. It’s around the block, if I’m not mistaken,” Yume said, voice still tinged with awe.  

The two of you entered the school, finally, and made your way to the reception area. The secretary looked at you through thick spectacles and eyed your rather informal attire with suspicion. “Do you speak Japanese?” she asked in her native tongue.  

You shook your head and stumbled through the phrase Yume had taught you. “Only a little. Yume-san is helping me.” You bowed, then motioned to Yume.  

Yume smiled and patted your arm. “You’re doing so good, she whispered, before turning and engaging in normal conversation with Ouran’s receptionist. After a few quick back-and-forths between them, the receptionist raised an eyebrow at you.  

“ ______-san?” She said your last name as best she could. 

You nodded. “ _Hai._ ” A pause. “Um, here to see Suoh Yuzuru.” You hoped the name would help get your message across, in case Yume’s message didn’t get through.  

The receptionist nodded dumbly, the name of the school’s chairman not lost on her. She picked up the phone and spoke into it; after conversing with whomever was on the other end, she addressed Yume with what you hoped were directions.  

Yume turned around, small school map in hand, and smiled. “Let’s go, ______-san. Chairman Suoh is waiting for us upstairs in his office.” 

You and Yume followed the map up several flights of stairs to the chairman’s office.  _It’s like Hogwarts here or something_ , you thought to yourself as Yume knocked on the opulent set of double doors.  

They opened immediately and a graying, excitable gentleman opened the doors. “Welcome!” 

 _Are these...rose petals...?_  You waved the drifting flowers away from you and stared at the face of Ouran’s chairman, Yuzuruh Suoh. He was flashing a very dramatic ear-to-ear grin as he looked you up and down.  

“You must be _______! The daughter of CFO _______ from Marsk company!” 

“Uh, Maersk, sir,” you gently corrected.  _At least he speaks English._ You bowed. “I’m ______-san. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I hope I’m not interrupting your day, sir.” 

“Nonsense!” he boomed back. “Oh, your manners are so polite! How well-versed you are in Japanese culture! Tell me, are you a fan of this glorious country as well?” The chairman continued to drone on as he turned and walked back inside of his spacious office.  

You looked over at Yume, who was wearing an expression somewhere between stunned and mortified.  

“Hey,” you whispered. “Is he...the chairman is kind of an otaku, yeah?” 

Yume turned and nodded. “Oh _____-san. I am glad you are not like this. I know you have told me that you are an anime fan, but. I am glad you are not as flamboyant as Suoh-sama.” 

“We’re using that honorific?” 

Yume nodded silently as the two of you scooted inside the office, letting the door swing shut behind you. The chairman still had his back turned and was still professing his love of the culture.  

“But,” you whispered. “Isn’t it odd to be an... otaku...about your own culture? I mean Suoh-sama is Japanese, isn’t he?” 

Yume gave you a sideways glance and smirk. “You’re telling me that there aren’t embarrassing Americans who act like this about your own culture?” 

It clicked. “Ah,” you said. “Duly noted.” 

The chairman finally came down from his outburst and turned back to you again. “And this must be your wonderful guide Yume-san! Thank you so much for seeing Miss ______ safely to Ouran Academy.” 

Yume bowed. “My pleasure, Suoh-sama.” 

“Oh, such flattery! I daresay I do have a bit of regality about me, do I not? After all, as head of the Suoh empire...” he droned off again, leaving you to gaze around his office expectantly. Your eyes finally settled on the two large couches in the middle of the room, and it finally struck—like a stark-white bullet train—you that you and Yume were not alone with the eccentric old man.  

Kyouya Ootori sat poised on the far end of one of the couches, one long leg crossed over the other, pale blue uniform blazer opened to reveal the white dress shirt and purple and black striped-tie underneath. He was holding a black notebook, and one arm was folded up, casually letting a pen dangle from long, smooth fingers. His pale face was just a bit flushed, but you couldn’t tell if it was a full blush or tinged pink because of the heat in the room, but his face was downright predatory in a way you’d rarely seen before. Whatever he’d been notating was left by the wayside as he stared at you, dark eyes regarding you with an expression that you just couldn’t read, a barely-noticeable ripple running up his body, from the bottom of his polished dress shoes to the top of his head, as he set his notebook and pen on the mahogany coffee table and stood, re-buttoning his dress jacket and striding over to the door. To you.  

He bowed low, right arm crossing his chest as he lowered his torso; then his dark eyes appeared from under raven hair and thin, silver glasses as he spoke, not moving from his formal greeting. “Good afternoon, Princess _______. My name is Kyouya Ootori, third son of the Ootori family. It is my pleasure to welcome you not only to Japan, but to Ouran Academy.” He rose, finally and took your small hand in his own; and before you could bow or respond or do any of the polite Japanese things you’d been doing all day, he leaned down and planted impossibly soft lips against the top of your hand.  

 _Oh. Oh no._   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you've read so far? Ya girl needs a new laptop. Drop me a few bucks at ko-fi.com/queenhomeslice


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyouya lays on that ol' host charm, and you meet the rest of the club. But are you just wooed by Kyouya's acting, or could this be something more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated for a long time whether I wanted Haruhi to speak English well, and finally settled on this justification: she IS at Ouran on an academic scholarship, after all; and in the manga, she does go to university in Boston. It'd make sense for someone as studious as Haruhi to realize that she needs to know her way around the English language fairly well, so it's not out of the realm of possibility for her to have started studying it as she entered adolescence. 
> 
> Plus I like to think it's something that she kept from the other club members until now (unless it's for class, they've never heard her speak it). Just another thing they can love about our favorite Natural Type. <3 
> 
> And writing Haruhi's scathing remarks at Tamaki's failed attempt at host seduction was pure bliss! I'm a hardcore Tamaki fangirl, so maybe that's why torturing him was kinda fun. (I'm sorry my king, I promise I still love you! Maybe I just like how Haruhi can take Tamaki down almost instantly...)

You’d had crushes before. You were currently crushing on no fewer than three different boys back home. And just because you were usually “all business” didn’t mean that you didn’t know how to have  _fun_ , especially with a boy. You’d had flings in Great Britain, Scotland, France, Mexico... Foreign guys were never, ever, off of your radar (in fact, you usually preferred them—you were so picky about the boys back home, but crushes and boyfriends were definitely more convenient than that long-distance thing you’d tried with that one cute boy from Angers, France, when you were fourteen). As long as you kept them off your public profile (and you did, no need to cause a scandal over making out with someone), the reigns were pretty loose as far as you dad and boyfriends were concerned. 

But this. You’d never felt anything like  _this_ before.  

Kyouya sucked the breath out of you like a goddamn vacuum cleaner when he bowed low and hit you with his gaze. No honorifics now, it was  _Princess ________ , and kissing your hand... _that_  was definitely not on your register of “normal Japanese greetings.” It also didn’t help that  Kyouya   Ootori  was impossibly rich, outside of even your wealthy social circles. A list of words started to slowly form in your currently short-circuited brain,  _s_ _mooth suave charming,_ but nothing seemed to do the boy in front of you any sort of justice. You found yourself backed up against the door in labored breath, face red despite foundation and concealer, free hand gripping the edge of your sweater. You could feel Yume beside you, but the latest pair of Tom Ford sunglasses could drop out of thin air beside you and you didn’t think you could look away from what—who—was in front of you.  

The moment only lasted seconds, you knew, but in your head all time had stopped from the moment Kyouya had addressed you. He pulled his lips away from your skin and let your hand go—it took a long time for you to lower it. You finally felt Yume nudge you in the ribs. Oh. Right. Bowing. Or something. You hastily folded forward.  

“It’s...it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ootori-san. Thank you for welcoming me to your school.” You stayed like that for several seconds, willing your heartbeat to  _please return to normal_.  

Suddenly Kyouya was on one knee in front of you, and when your head snapped up, your (e/c) eyes met his and you stopped breathing again. “You are very well-mannered, Princess.” His cool gaze shot to Yume, who was standing up from her own silent bow, eyes widening in realization at Kyouya’s actions. She stifled a giggle. His hand shot out and lightly held your chin, forcing you to look at him. “It’s not often we get foreign visitors, and it’s even less often that I encounter an American as elegant, respectful, and beautiful as yourself. Although I said I would introduce you to my peers, my insides swim with jealousy at letting another’s gaze capture your undivided attention.” 

 _What. In the hell. Was happening._ “Uh,” you said gracefully. “That’s...I...” Your eyes flicked down to your smartwatch—3:35 pm. “Your...your club starts at four, right...wouldn’t want you to be late.” Your voice was at a low whisper, completely undone by the last five minutes. Where was Yume? What had even happened to Chairman Suoh? It was like you and Kyouya were the only two people in the room, and you stupidly wished that you were.  

Kyouya rose and helped you rise back to a standing position. He bowed quickly—though not as low—to Yume, whose face was full of mirth at the scene that had just transpired. You flicked your gaze to the Chairman’s desk, and there he was, legs up, on the phone, casually, like a regular schmuck, acting as though some boy hadn’t just charmed the literal pants off of you. You looked back at Kyouya, who was just looking at you longingly, and—what was in his hand, a blue rose, because what the fuck? He was holding the flower out to you, and of course there was nothing you could do but take it, shivering as his hand brushed yours.  

 _What. In the hell. Was happening._ You looked to  Yume , who looked entirely too comfortable with the situation. You raised an eyebrow, because  _H E L P._ “Uh, Ootori-san. This...this is my tour guide and interpreter, Yume-san. Uh. I mean. Kimura-san.” 

Kyouya smiled politely. “I trust I have you to thank for delivering Princess ______ safely to Ouran. Several of my peers are also passable in English conversation, so it is not necessary for you to come along, unless the Princess here requests you do so.” 

You looked to Yume, but she just grinned and waved her hand. “You go have fun learning about a Japanese school, _______-san. I will wait here for you.” 

Kyouya beamed and clapped his palms. “Wonderful. Now, Princess, if you’ll follow me.” Kyouya opened the office door and led you out of the familiar comfort of Yume.  

“Uh, Ootori-san,” you said as you walked nervously behind him. “I...look, just. I’m sorry in advance if I do anything. Y’know.” You looked down and blushed.  

He turned back at you, eyes lidded and mouth smirking. “Do what, Princess?” 

“Y’know. Like. Mess up. Culturally. Or something. My command of your language isn’t very good, I’ve only been studying it for a month or two.” 

He chuckled. “No need to worry, dear. I will guide you and speak for you to our other friends whose English is subpar. You are our honored guest this afternoon, you shouldn’t be expected to worry about anything.” 

“Okay.” Then, “Why are you being so...doting? Do you always do this to the daughters or foreign businessmen or am I some sort of weird anomaly? Hand-kissing and roses weren’t mentioned in my Lonely Planet guidebook.” 

Kyouya actually let out a hearty laugh as the two of you rounded a corner at the end of the long hallway and proceeded up another impossibly wide, grandiose staircase. “Of course they wouldn’t be, Princess.” 

“Y’know you can call me by my real name, right? Like Princess is just part of my Instagram handle, it’s okay. Plus my dad calls me that, it’s a little weird.” 

Kyouya stopped in front of a door, finally, and turned. “Have you ever heard of host clubs?” 

“What? Oh, uh, yeah! There’s this one anime...shit.” 

Kyouya raised an eyebrow. “A consumer of Japanese media, are we?” 

“Uh. Kinda. I try not to be...y’know. Over-the-top about it. Especially in public. And especially here. I know that the word ‘otaku’ has its....connotations.” 

Kyouya smiled. “At any rate, the extracurricular club that I mentioned in our messages is, in fact, a host club. I’m its vice president, and I also handle the financial aspects of the club.” 

A lightbulb flickered and finally illuminated in your brain. “Oh! I get it, that’s why...in Suoh-sama's office...” You laughed, now, big and dumb and loud, hardly believing that you’d fallen for Kyouya’s smooth hosting. “Damn, Ootori-san. You’re really good at it.” You twirled the blue rose in your right hand, a little disappointed. “You really had me going.” 

Kyouya grinned. “Admittedly, I laid on the charm a little thick and acted slightly outside of my character.” 

You laughed. “Aw, but you look so good like that, all flirty and...stuff.” You dropped your eyes, a slight blush coming back. If Kyouya was just one boy able to charm your pants off in a few minutes, were you actually prepared to go through it with who knew how many boys on the other side of this door? You swallowed hard and looked back at him, his expression neutral but kind. “Sorry! Sorry if that was too familiar.” 

He shook his head. “Nonsense. Now, let’s get you inside, Princess. I want the others to meet you before our regular clientele arrive.” He put his slim, long fingers on the intricate door handle and pushed it forward.  

 

You definitely weren’t imagining it now. This was the second time rose petals had flung themselves at you from behind a closed door. It was like the air was sparkling around you as you stepped in. The room was impossibly big, with couches and tables strewn about everywhere, a grand baby piano off in the corner, and your eyes registered a mop of blonde hair on the other too-tall-for-his-age boy at the keys. You wondered vaguely if it was the boy from Kyouya’s one informal selfie. (At any rate, his playing was flawless.) There were two other boys on one of the couches, laughing at each other—twins, with auburn hair, smirking and joking between themselves. There was a short—well, your height, maybe, but short in comparison to Kyouya—boy who was bustling around several serving carts with crystal and porcelain tea sets, setting things in place and fussing over napkins folded in the shape of cranes. At a small table set for two was another blonde-haired boy—he looked like a small child, honestly, but maybe his growth spurt just hadn’t hit yet—shoving a cupcake into his mouth happily, while the tallest of the boys so far, another dark-haired one—looked on with quiet neutrality. The only girl in the room, a strawberry blonde, was going up to piano boy now, whacking him over the head with a binder and screaming in...French? To which piano boy responded by cowering and screaming apologies back (in French..???) as the melody ended abruptly.  

Kyouya cleared his throat and suddenly, you could’ve heard a pin drop, and every eye in the room was on you.  

“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Princess _______,” Kyouya was saying in Japanese, without flourish, as though he were reciting a shopping list; but your cheeks were getting hot under the gaze of so many stunningly beautiful eyes. “She is the daughter of (father’s name), chief financial officer of Maersk shipping company in the United States. She is here on business with her father this week in Tokyo. I expect everyone to be on their best behavior and give _________ a warm welcome. Those of who are not fluent in English, please do not hesitate to ask myself or Tamaki for help with interpretation. Princess _______ arrived just last night, so please forgive any shortcomings she may have, culturally speaking.” Kyouya looked down at you and smiled. “Can you introduce yourself?” 

The air was thick with tension as you looked away from him and back out at all the faces zeroed in on you. You bowed slowly, saying with as much confidence as you could muster, “My name is _______. It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for welcoming me to your school.” You looked back at him. “I don’t...that’s about as much as I think I can say. I’m not even sure I did that right, but.” 

Kyouya shook his head. “You did wonderfully, darling.” 

You smiled and as you turned back to the room, all its members were suddenly a lot closer than before. All of them, circling around you like you were a painting in a museum. The blonde ( _piano boy_ , you registered again) was now in your personal space, too close, blue-violet eyes piercing your heart and wavy blonde hair brushing your forehead.  

“Kyouya,” he said, strained.  

What accent  _was_ that? He spoke French...blonde hair...was piano boy only half-Japanese?  

“Yes, Tamaki?” Kyouya answered coolly.  

“Why have you been hiding this gorgeous princess from us?” In English. He wanted you to hear him.  

“Come now, Tamaki. You know I’d never do that. Princess _______ just messaged me upon her arrival to Tokyo just last night. You should be thanking me for arranging her visit on such short notice.” Kyouya cocked his head and waved towards Tamaki. “This is Suoh Tamaki, son of Chairman Suoh, whom you met earlier. He’s the president and founder of our host club. This is his second year here at Ouran Academy.” 

You were blushing, and dammit if the whole host club act didn’t get under your skin. Tamaki was on one knee, brandishing a red rose, grabbing your hand and holding it over his heart. His hands were big and warm—thin, like Kyouya’s, but firmer in their grip, as his wide eyes never left yours. He spoke, voice low and seductive. “Kyouya may have sought you out, Princess, but I can assure you that your search for the perfect prince ends here and now.” He blinked his long eyelashes—seriously, it wasn’t fair—and... were those  _tears_ at the corners of his eyes?  

You heard a scoff from somewhere in the crowd and snapped up to find the two twins rolling their eyes in annoyance.  

“C’mon, boss, quit hogging the princess all to yourself,” said one, with his hair parted to the right.  

“Stupid idiot king, never letting anyone else have any fun with new guests,” said the other, a mirror image with hair parted to the left. “Besides, you don’t even know who she is...” 

“...But we do,” finished the first twin, causing Tamaki to snap his head back, incredulous look on his face.  

“Wha....how?!” The tall blonde whined, settling into a dark pout, puppy dog eyes and all, as he slumped to his knees.  

“That’s right, you phony, SunshinePrincess Seventeen would never fall for someone as cheesy as you!” The strawberry blonde French girl roared, smacking him on the head again. “It only makes sense that she falls for  _perfect, dreamy_ Kyouya!” She ended the last syllable of his name with a rather fangirl screech.  

Kyouya chuckled at the scene.  

You were utterly, hopelessly confused. An Instagram follower? Three of them?  _Here?_  You looked at the twins, and then back at Kyouya. “Uh. Ootori-san?” 

“Kyouya,” came Tamaki’s pained voice again. “Surely you’re not insisting on making her call you that. How...ungentlemanly.” Tamaki said this last word with a pointed emphasis and you watched as Kyouya’s gaze shifted, only slightly; but you could tell he was annoyed.  

“For your information, Tamaki. There is nothing wrong with how the Princess is addressing me. She is an American—and while somewhat wealthy, at a complete lower station than anyone else in this room. To have her address me with such familiarity after only having just met would raise suspicion, and she would come off to others as rather rude, don’t you think? It wouldn’t be a good image for her.” 

The delicate hairs at the back of your neck bristled at what you first thought to be an insult, but then you realized that Kyouya was right. By not allowing you to address him as anything informal, he was protecting the highly-controlled public image you had of yourself. If your father, you, or anyone else in the Maersk company wanted to continue to do business in Japan, you needed to keep face and follow customs to a _t_. The “lower station” comment stung slightly, but you couldn’t fault him for being right. Of course it was appropriate for you to address him as near royalty (should you be using  _sama_ , then, you wondered briefly), considering the hierarchy you were now a part of.  

 _How calculating he is_ , you thought with surprise.  _I wasn’t expecting him to care so much about my reputation even though we’ve only just met, but I misjudged him._  

Tamaki had opened his mouth to protest but had clamped his lips shut as he let Kyouya finish. He was still somewhat sullen, but his spirit lifted a little as he turned back to you. “Don’t let Kyouya get you down, Princess. We welcome everyone to our playground of the rich and beautiful.” 

A cleared throat brought your attention back to the twins, the one with the right hair-part spoke first. “I’m Hitachiin Hikaru, Princess,” he said casually, in a little more broken English than Kyouya—you could tell that he was younger, so possibly in a lower school grade?—“a first-year here at Ouran. Welcome to our school.”  

The left hair-part spoke next. “I’m his brother, Kaoru,” said the other twin, slightly more polished, and voice slightly higher than his twin’s. “Welcome. We’re honored to have you.” He paused, opened his mouth again, not sure what to say. He blushed slightly and shot Kyouya a look. Kyouya nodded, then a waterfall of native words spilled out from the both of them.  

Kyouya smiled and turned back to you. “It seems the twins are avid followers of your social media, Princess _______. You’ve heard of the Hitachiin fashion line, no doubt? The twins’ mother is the creator and designer of the Hitachiin brand.” 

“The...no way, the Hitachiin brand? You’re kidding me!” Your eyes went wide as you stared at the twins, who were beaming and a little starstruck. You bowed hurriedly, almost headbutting Tamaki, who was still kneeling in front of you.  

He fell backwards in a rather undignified manner, earning a snort from the brunette boy of average height who’d been hanging around the back.  

“How obnoxious of you, Sempai,” she said, English almost as crystal as Kyouya’s.  

An almost audible gasp resonated from the others, but he paid no mind as he continued. It was almost as if no one expected him to be fluent.  

“Seriously, Sempai, you’re crowding our new guest. You didn’t even leave her room to bow properly, how embarrassing for her. It’s clear she wants to talk to the twins now. You should step aside.” The small boy folded his eyes and shot Tamaki a heated stare, and his mood instantly went south as he curled in on himself and stood, excusing himself to the far wall where he sulked on the bay window bench.  

“Don’t mind him,” the boy was addressing you again. “He’s always doing stupid stuff like that.” He bowed. “I’m Fujioka Haruhi, it’s an honor to have you as a special guest today.” He closed his eyes and smiled brightly, and you felt your heart clench a little.  

 _So...so cute...and genuine..._   

“If you’ll excuse me, Princess,” Haruhi was saying. “I really must finish our preparations. Please don’t hesitate to ask for me as a host. I would love to speak with you. It’s not often we get beautiful foreigners in our midst.” He bowed again and excused himself back to the table to continue his ministrations on the napkins and fine china.  

You looked to the twins, who seemed to be holding their breath, both a little flushed. “I wish my Japanese was better,” you said with a sigh. “It’s really great to meet the heirs to the Hitachiin fashion line. I’m a huge fan of your mother’s work. I own several of her pieces.” You enunciated each word slowly. The twins didn’t look lost yet, only smiled excitedly. You looked back at Kyouya. “Uh, I’m not sure if they need interpretation or not.” 

Kyouya snapped his lithe fingers and the twins whipped their heads to look at him.  

“Geez, Shadow King, rude much?” Hikaru stuck out his tongue. Kaoru stayed silent but followed along in gesture.  

“It’s not polite to not respond to our guest,” Kyouya responded curtly in Japanese. “If you need help understanding her, you need to say so. Don’t make it awkward. She's speaking slowly that you'll understand her. Don't do anything embarrassing.” 

Hikaru shrugged. “We can understand more English than we can speak.” 

“Yeah, give us some credit. We’re in the top ten of our class, we’re not stupid,” Kaoru rolled his eyes.  

Kyouya shrugged and turned back to you. “They should be able to understand most of what you say, though their responses might be lacking. I’m sure you’re familiar with the typical gap in foreign languages, Princess.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me more than once. My listening command of French is nigh-impeccable. Always having the words to say back, though...another story.” 

“What! You speak French!” The strawberry blonde girl practically threw herself around your neck. “I knew you were so cool the moment I found your Instagram profile, _______-san!” She was hugging and twirling around you now, yellow dress billowing out behind her. “I”m Renge Houshakuji! I flew from France just so I could go to the same school as Kyouya! I’m the host club’s manager!”  

“Okay...okay—thanks Houshakuji-san—but I can’t breathe,” you gasped as Renge finally let go. 

 “These boys were  _clueless_ without me, especially that dolt in the window.” She jerked a thumb in Tamaki’s direction and flipped her long, thick hair. “But I have breathed life and brought  _so_  many new ideas to this hopeless endeavor!” 

“Uh. That’s great. I guess? And hey, thanks for the Instagram follow.” 

“Sure thing! Hey, promise me we’ll get a selfie later!” Renge bounded off in Haruhi’s direction.  

You felt a  _thud_ against your lower half and looked down to see another mop of blonde hair, this one outright hugging you.  

“Mitsukuni,” his stoic dark-haired companion was saying, slight exasperation in his voice. 

The smaller boy hopped away from you and bowed. “Sorry about that, ________-chan, but when I see cute things I just can’t help myself! And you’re really cute, you know. I’m Haninozuka Mitsukuni, but everyone just calls me Honey. I’m so glad you came to visit us today! Will you eat some cake with me and Usa-chan?” He pointed to a stuffed pink rabbit on the chair he’d been sitting on.  

You bowed. “I’m flattered, Haninozuka-san. And cake sounds wonderful.” 

Honey pouted and looked at Kyouya. “Kyo-chan, I don’t like it when the princesses are so formal with me.” 

Kyouya shook his head. “I’m sorry Honey, but Princess _______ has a reputation to protect. Perhaps with time it will be more appropriate for her to address you informally, but my initial wish still stands.” He looked at you.  

You waved your hands defensively. “Hey, no worries, Ootori-san. I’m not offended in the least. I want to do things right here. I know I’m just the awkward  _gaijin.”_  

Kyouya chuckled at the slight degradation. “You’re doing fine, Princess. Perhaps when we meet again you will have a more established connection.” 

“Kyouya-sempai, it’s 3:55,” Haruhi called out.  

“Ah, almost time for our guests,” Kyouya said, clapping his palms together. “Don’t worry, Princess. You can claim me as your host today, if you’re feeling particularly overwhelmed."

Honey had stepped away from you, then, and was bounding back to his rabbit and his cake.  

You locked eyes with the last member of the club and bowed. He dropped to one knee and took both of your hands in his large, strong hands, and kissed them. He said nothing for several seconds, racking his gaze over you before finally finding words. You didn’t miss the slight flush to his previously pale cheeks.  

“Welcome to Japan, Princess ________. My name is Morinozuka Takashi. Friends call me Mori. I look forward to the day when you can call me that.” He smiled as he rose back up to full height.  

 _What the fuck is in the water that all these boys are fucking giants?_ You smiled. “You are too kind, Morinozuka-san. Thank you for the warm welcome.”  

Mori nodded silently and turned sharply on his heel, sauntering back to the table to dote on Honey.  

“I’m afraid I’ve run out of time for further introductions, Princess,” Kyouya said. “It’s now 4 o’clock and our clientele is usually ridiculously prompt. Again, just stick with me, and we can talk more after the club is over.” He smiled again and bowed. “Welcome, again, to the Ouran High School Host Club.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you've read so far? Ya girl needs a new laptop. I'm on Ko-Fi at ko-fi.com/queenhomeslice

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you've read so far? Ya girl needs a new laptop. I'm on Ko-Fi at ko-fi.com/queenhomeslice.


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